


Well Met by Moonlight

by Neila_Nuruodo



Series: Mortal Entanglements [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25771543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neila_Nuruodo/pseuds/Neila_Nuruodo
Summary: The moon was shedding its light silently...A life for a life.  What kind of bargain is this, F'lhaminn wonders, to balance the scales between the Scions and the Ascians?  Yet even so it is not truly balanced, for her daughter's heart weeps, and a pall of grief blankets the Waking Sands.She is not, however, the only one who mourns.  Who wonders why, why must it be like this?  How can this have come to pass?She is not alone.
Relationships: F'lhaminn Qesh & Elidibus (Final Fantasy XIV)
Series: Mortal Entanglements [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1869580
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9
Collections: August Novel Pairing Challenge 2020





	Well Met by Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> This pairing's inherent potential struck me back in May, but I had neither the time nor the impetus to follow through. I finally found both!
> 
> Gen for now; I have plans for how to continue this, but I have no idea whatsoever if it'll go shippy or not. (Tags will be updated if so!)

The cool air of night was a balm to a sore soul.

F’lhaminn’s heart ached, lacerations cut by her daughter’s brittle, shattered-glass smile. The memory of Minfilia, the solemn affect of a leader stretched thin over her grief, cut deep. Again her hands clenched in helpless need, the desire to take the pain of Moenbryda’s loss, to lighten the load… but it would not avail. Much as it pained her, her daughter was a woman grown—and how evident it was, as she spoke to the assembled Scions and support staff, describing the ghostly assailant who had nearly stolen her away.

Must it always take a life to save a life?

At least the moon’s light shone bright, illuminating where crystal did not gleam with an inner glow. The full moon seemed a fitting eulogy for Moenbryda, at least, the gentle light seeping into crevices and corners of the landscape. F’lhaminn knew the kindly adventurers of Mor Dhona, always eager to protect her, would blanch to know she had slipped without the safety of the walls. But she needed this. She needed solitude, a place for her heart to weep without any to witness. And so she gazed from the short cliff’s edge over the glowing landscape. Unnatural it might be, but it was nonetheless beautiful, and all the more so in the dark.

If the crystal’s shimmer and gleam reflected in sparkling drops upon her cheeks, none were about to witness it.

But the night was peaceful, quiet. The soft sounds of wildlife rose and fell, mingling with the shush of wind and occasional clank or burst of distant laughter from Revenant’s Toll. Life went on, and much as she needed the solitude the reminders were nonetheless timely. The pain did not truly recede, but slowly other things returned to crowd it—memory, the distant presence of those who cared, who would protect not only F’lhaminn herself but Minfilia as well. Revenant’s Toll had not been home for long, but in that time it had truly become _home._ And so her breathing slowly began to even, to lighten to something approaching ease. To loosen from pain and stress, to feel once more the freshness of the night’s crisp air as something alive rather than a blade.

She had no idea how much time had passed when a mad impulse prodded her to glance about, to turn for the first time and look behind her, all around at her surroundings. Her gaze snagged on a pale silhouette, and she froze, blinking. Did she imagine it…? Almost she would have _sworn_ there was a figure there, clad in white. But a shake of her head sent doubt worming through her. Surely it was naught but a shade, the product of an overwrought mind. Chastising her overactive imagination, her emotional state, she turned away, but a spark of moonlight glinted from the tip of one golden shoulder-spire, drawing her eye to linger a breath longer.

That shape… the cowl…

Memory flooded back—the description Minfilia had given, of black robes rather than white, but beyond that stark difference the designs were unmistakable.

An Ascian.

But no ordinary Ascian, her instincts whispered as his cowl turned slightly, as the beak of a red mask came into view. This must be the one Minfilia had mentioned in passing, the one claiming to come in peace before, some time ago. The one who had struck her down but done no lasting damage.

Breath choked her, seizing in her throat; her hands clenched to fists, useless twists of fear. She did not know how to fight. She should not have come here alone. She should have told someone where she was going! Foolish woman…

But he made no movement beyond turning his head to face her. For an eternity they stood, gazes locked, and though his mask obscured his eyes she _knew_ he stared at her in similar wariness. Slowly, though, her heart settled, the gallop of fear gentling, going sluggish as no danger manifested and grief stole back over her. With a deep, shivery breath, she forced her hands to release their tension, her chin falling as she turned back to her pensive view of Mor Dhona’s crystallized landscape.

The alarm snapped back through her at the click of a boot on hard stone behind her. Trying not to show how her heart again leaped into her throat, she turned back, one hand rising to her chest.

“I did not intend to disturb your meditations.”

It was instinctive to fall back on her vocal training, to control her tone and choose her words with graceful care. “No harm is done.” The poignant pause after her words doubled as an eloquent invitation. Beneath the red mask, his lips stretched in a broad smile.

“Nor do I intend harm.” The wary tension humming throughout F’lhaminn eased at his words. With deliberate steps he closed the distance, coming to stand beside her, his body mimicking her stance overlooking the vista but his head turned to face her. “I but wish to seek comfort in the solitude of the night.”

Her eyes narrowed on him, sudden calculation spinning behind them. “You are troubled by something?”

“The loss of a comrade.”

A pained exhalation slipped her lips, grief once again as a blow to the gut. “Then you knew him. The one they fought this day.” With her gaze turned inward, she did not mark how his shoulders swelled in a tightly-controlled breath. “We also lost one of our friends.” Her fists clenched once more, pain and fury mingling at the unfairness of it all, the cruelty.

“My condolences.”

His words sounded genuine, at least to her ear, practiced from a lifetime of stage work and false friends. For a moment she wondered, stricken, that he might show sympathy despite the pain he himself suffered, the loss he had undergone—and at her comrades’ hands, no less. She turned to face him, managing a smile.

“Please let me offer mine as well. I pray I speak for my daughter and her friends when I say we took no joy in it.” The smile crumpled, like tissue wetted and wadded. “It feels so asinine. So wasteful. How can it have come to this?”

His response was silence, silence and a hand raised slowly, cautiously. She stilled to watch. Gloved fingertips brushed her shoulder, so careful she could not be sure she felt it.

“The only answers I can give are cruelties. Harsh truths of this world’s broken nature. They will offer no succor to your heart.”

“Then let us instead tell ourselves that it will get better, with time. True or no, we can cling to this platitude.”

After a moment, he nodded, slow and grave. “There is enough truth in that to offer comfort, I think.”

For a time they stood in reflective silence. Together they watched the moon’s gradual ascent to the heavens, each seeming to see the one they mourned in its face. After some time, F’lhaminn turned to the Ascian.

“I apologize; it seems I have entirely forgotten my manners. I am F’lhaminn, Minfilia’s mother.”

The Ascian could have been a statue, so still he stood, but at her words he stirred to life. “Well met, Lady F’lhaminn. I am Elidibus, emissary of the Ascians.”

“Emissary?” She smiled and offered a hand. Her eyes drew wide as, rather than taking it to clasp and shake, he instead raised it to his lips, drifting a ghostly kiss over its back. “Is that why you wear white instead of black?”

“It is part of the reason, yes.” With a smile he released her hand, straightening to meet her gaze once more through the mask.

“I find myself surprised. By my daughter’s account, you are unusually capable of defending yourself.”

He chuckled. “Nor will I apologize for that. I felt myself in danger and acted as befitted the situation. Surely I did no permanent harm?”

F’lhaminn sighed. “No, or at least none she will confess. But I worry about her, as would any mother. She is such a sweet child, you must understand. I struggle to believe she would have done _you_ any harm.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps you see her through the nostalgic lens of a parent. She could be no true leader of men, as she plainly is, without the capacity for ruthlessness. She is no longer merely the sweet child you raised, but a woman grown, steel-cored.”

To see F’lhaminn’s eyes snap with fire, one might doubt she had ever experienced fear’s flutters upon seeing the Ascian. “Grown she may be, but she is barely upon the cusp of adulthood. The mantle of a leader rests well upon her… but she is still so young. Surely allowances could have been made, under the circumstances.”

If the Ascian had ever questioned whether F’lhaminn was indeed Minfilia’s mother in all ways that mattered, he could not do so any more. Parted lips indicated some degree of surprise, though the mask hid its extent, before he mastered himself to speak once more.

“You speak true, of course. But this is knowledge I could not have had upon that occasion. But,” he said, and for a moment F’lhaminn saw a glint through the shadowed aperture of the mask’s eye, “I shall take this information under consideration should we meet again. As, I hope, she might as well—for my role is not that of a combatant, and to push me to such a thing is both affront and blasphemy.”

For a moment F’lhaminn frowned, a puzzled expression as she considered his words. “I suppose I can speak with her. Though I shall have to be subtle, lest she realize I have been chatting with apparitions.” She grinned, and for a moment grief was forgotten for pleasure. “I do enjoy a challenge.”

Elidibus returned the smile. “Will you not simply tell her you encountered me?”

“And admit I left the walls without a guard? Don’t be ridiculous. I should like to do this again sometime, and I cannot well do so with a hanger-on.”

This earned a chuckle from the Ascian. “I suppose you are correct. Though I do hope you will take care. There are dangers other than Ascians without those walls, after all.”

“Of course.” She shot him a glance. “Are you also evading your staunch defenders, then?”

The smile dimmed slowly. “Nay. I have no one to fret over me.” F’lhaminn’s expression twisted to one of concern, of sympathy, and he smiled once more. “Do not look at me so. I do not require defenders—as your own daughter has witnessed.”

Fire sparked once more, like an ember blown upon. “I suppose. I hope you will be a touch more discerning in exercising self-defense in the future. There is a reason we make allowances for the fire and inexperience of youth.”

He sighed, long and soft. “You are all so young to me.”

To this F’lhaminn had no response. They lapsed back into silence, and she studied him a moment longer, an almost bewildered expression on her face, before turning back to the glowing view before them. The night’s chill had deepened by slow degrees, and now she tucked her hands under her arms, pressing icy fingers into the warmth of her body’s heat. A shiver burst over her, prompting a deep sigh and grimace.

“I believe I have had my fill of solitude. This chill makes me long for the fire’s warmth.”

“An all too understandable impulse. I thank you for being alone together with me for this time; your presence and words have brought me a measure of ease and peace. I hope mine have done the same.”

For a moment her gaze went misty. "Most assuredly. Never did I expect to find solace with an erstwhile enemy, but I am glad of it." Raising her hand to her chest, she gave him a small bow. "Take care. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise." A bow returned, graced with a smile, served as farewell; he turned away, toward the crystallized wilds.

“We should meet again.” The words burst from her impulsively, bypassing her usual careful process.

Elidibus stopped, turning back. “I beg your pardon?”

F’lhaminn took a deep breath, redoubling her resolve. “I think we should meet again. I’m no one important to the Scions, just Minfilia’s mother. Just a cook. And I get the impression you’re in a similar position with your own comrades. But that doesn’t mean we can’t lay the groundwork to end this senseless war.” She raised glimmering eyes to meet the apertures of his mask. “That doesn’t mean we can’t at least try. Peace has to begin somewhere, doesn’t it?”

Those expressive lips, softly parted and slack beneath the scarlet mask, drew into a small smile. “You make your point most eloquently. For oft does hope germinate and grow in the least expected places, hidden from sight until it sends forth its blossoms.” He raised a hand, palm up, toward her; aether shimmered and coalesced, spiraling into a glittering shape—a flower. Transparent as glass or crystal, its long stem was dotted with wickedly glittering thorns; he gripped it carefully between these to offer it to her. At its top was a bud, swollen as though it might open at any moment, gracefully curved and fluted. For a moment F’lhaminn simply stared, wide-eyed in admiration. When she reached out to accept the gift, her slow motions could not hide the faint tremble in her fingertips.

“I cannot say when I might next be at liberty to visit you. This shall serve as a beacon for me; should I locate it somewhere I might visit unseen, I will follow it to you. If that is amenable?”

The songstress’s eyes were still riveted to the crystalline flower, to the tiny purple-black serpent coiled in the center of the bud, barely visible in the dark. A moment passed after he fell silent, then she blinked out of her reverie.

“That should suffice quite nicely, I think.” Raising her eyes once more to his, she smiled. “Thank you. For that, and for this. It is… exquisite.”

He offered a polite nod, a quasi-bow, and turned without a further word. A few steps led him into a shadowy portal, and he was gone. Turning the other way, following the path back to the stone walls looming nearby, F’lhaminn hummed an old tune, her steps falling in time to its beats as she made her way back home.


End file.
